


Monasteries and Murder

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Ab Aeterno [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Awkward Flirting, College Student Scott, Detective Stiles, Friends to Lovers, Historical Fantasy, Immortality, M/M, Magic, ProScott, Reincarnation, Serial Killer, Witch Hunter Stiles, witch hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hundreds of years ago, a young man has finally found his sanctuary after running for so long. Scott doesn't know why he can't die or how he keeps finding Stiles reborn every lifetime just to lose him again. If he could only recognize Stiles sooner, maybe they could break this curse together.</p><p>In the present day, Detective Stilinski is hot on the trail of Beacon Hill's terrifying new serial killer, the Blind Man. And a date with Beacon Hill's hottest grad student, Scott McCall. It's not wrong to hit on your suspect, is it?</p><p>A part of Ab Aeterno, a love story across lifetimes and throughout history between two idiot best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monasteries and Murder

Hope was a difficult thing to hold on to as months and years became decades, then centuries. The world changed around him, but Scott remained a fixed point. He never aged and he never could figure out how to finally rest without the curse hurling him back into existence. He retreated as far from the world as he could, wandering aimlessly to keep anyone from getting too close. Even the years where he desperately sought peace were short lived, forcing him to move on before those around him grew suspicious of the way he never grew older with the rest of them. It would have been unbearable if not for the fragile hope he cradled close to his chest.

 _Stiles was out there somewhere_.

He never quite looked the same or kept the same name, each lifetime shaping him into something new, but there was always something about him that was familiar. They were drawn together by some inexorable magnetism that Scott couldn’t explain, it was just another part of the curse to bring them together so he could lose Stiles over and over again. He was never sure if he’d found his best friend until the very end when death cleared Stiles’s mind and he would smile, whispering the same words every time. “I will always be at your side, my king.” He only knew Stiles before he lost him.

If he could only find his best friend sooner, figure out how to recognize him before the very end, maybe there was a way to save them both.

His method of searching was still inconsistent at best. Scott was always at odds with himself on his journey, torn between dreams and desolation, but altogether accidentally, he’d found a way to make his introduction to a new town fairly easy.

Monasteries were always eager to open their doors to soft-spoken young men who could sing their hymns. It didn’t hurt that he could read as well, and more than once, he caught whispers from the clergy about his ties to local nobility. Scott didn’t do anything to dissuade their gossip. If they thought he was a rich man’s bastard son, they would open their hearts to him, and their wallets soon followed.

Behind the church’s walls, they let him live a quiet life, and on occasions, Scott traveled into the village, keeping his eyes and ears open for a sign, any sign that told him his best friend wasn’t far. He was new enough that the townsfolk turned their heads, but familiar enough that he could make jokes at the expense of other drifters. The sisters were good to him, as long as he kept his distance, and shared from the gardens they tended. It wouldn’t have been the first time he found Stiles behind a softer frame. His best friend always managed to surprise him.

“Careful, careful!” a young man said, swatting Scott’s hands away before he could get close to touching the strange cylindrical object, and nearly smacked himself in the face. “You’ll put your eye out like that. Do you even know what this is?”

He was snippity and temperamental like a hungry rat. That should’ve been Scott’s first clue.

“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“Hilarious. That’s a witch pricker, and I’m the best there ever was.”

Scott burst out laughing.

“Witch pricker? Sorry, it’s just not much of a fearsome title.” Scott tried to get himself under control before the other man’s scowl managed to actually start causing physical harm. “I’m sure it’s a very dangerous and noble profession, sir.”

The hunter’s scowl only deepened, and he swung back his cloak to reveal elaborate weapons and an assortment of strange arcane looking devices. “I am an emissary of the Church sent to battle against the Devil himself and his foul minions on earth! I hunt down creatures so terrifying that you’d never be able to sleep again if you even saw one.” The young man was on a rant and Scott was caught up in the storm, holding his hands out to try and calm the hunter before the outburst drew attention. “See this blade? Blessed by the Pope himself and guaranteed to kill a witch with one strike. And this?” He shook a bracelet of firey opals in Scott’s face. “This is an ancient relic that can prove a murder was committed by black magic.”

“Alright, I believe you! I’m so sorry, I never meant to offend.”

With a huff, the hunter tugged at the ends of his cloak and looked so much younger now that his rage had ebbed. “It  _is_  very important, you know.”

“I know.”

“And I  _am_  very good at it.”

“I’m sure you are.” Scott said comfortingly. “How many witches have you discovered?”

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “None yet, but I know I’m getting close! I can feel it.”

Scott hid his smile, trying so hard to keep a straight face as the other man clung to his deflating ego. “I don’t know how many witches you’ll find in a monastery, but the brothers are kind and I’m sure you can stay as long as you’d like before continuing on with your hunt, Sir Pricker.”

“I can’t. You see I have some very important questing to do.” The witch hunter started, before his stomach let out a loud, unhappy gurgle. Scott’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but the other man didn’t move a muscle to change his tune. “But I suppose if my presence make the brothers feel more at ease, then who am I to deny them?”

“It will, so very much better.”

The hunter preened as proudly as any cock. “Are you one of the brothers?”

“Not at all.”

And just like that, they were friends. The hunter had a whole different life, a completely different family, different wants and ambitions, but he was still Stiles, and now that he placed him, Scott couldn’t miss the similarities. They warmed his heart and left the former king giddy with excitement. They bothered their hosts, turned the monastery into a place of laughter and glee, until the sisters clucked at them in shame and they started to collect stern discussions with the Head Cleric.

For Stiles, it was a joy. The years he spent in rigorous training had taken a toll on him. For the first time, he had the chance to play a young man, and with someone who asked the best questions, the sort no one had ever dared.

“Then how do you know you’ve found a witch?” Scott asked, as they skipped stones by the river, the errands they’d been sent into town for all but forgotten.

“Easy. They’re hideous, absolutely hideous with big blood red eyes and a mouth full of sharp fangs, and the smell! Urgh, don’t get me started on their breath. It’s bad enough to put a bull to sleep.”

The other man frowned, checked his breath against his hand before letting out a wheezing exhale right in Stiles’s face, who went pinwheeling all the way to the ground.

“I’m just returning a favor!” Scott laughed, and even if Stiles had no idea what he meant, he laughed with him.

“I’m not joking!” Stiles roared, jabbing a vengeful fist in the air. “Witches are evil, absolutely evil! Every one of them deserves to be burned to the ground. It’s the only way to save ourselves!” Stiles was proud of his dedication to the cause. It was what would make him an inevitable success.

“But what of mercy?”

There was something odd about Scott’s tone. It didn’t flow like the other questions in his endless supply.

“Isn’t that what the Good Book preaches? A chance at redemption?”

“You can’t redeem a witch, they’re not even human.” Stiles said by rote, trained in his answers for years. There wasn’t any room for disagreement, it was the natural way of things. Those who questioned were heretics and he’d given his life for this cause. His faith was unshakable, or so he thought. When Scott leaned in close and smiled, Stiles could barely remember his holy responsibilities and his head filled with impossible wants.

“I think everyone deserves a chance to try and be better. It’s important, you don’t even know how much. Life is really long and everyone changes.” The corner of Scott’s mouth twitched at the irony and he bumped shoulders with the other man. “People are afraid of things they don’t understand, I get that. But it’s easy to blame innocent people when you’re scared. When you do go off on your adventures, promise me that you’ll be careful of that.”

Scott slid his hand around Stiles’s. Even after centuries, he could still feel the flames that burned him alive and the scalding lead poured down his throat. His curse had destroyed the lives of those around him and his own people had turned against him, even as he dedicated what was left of himself to protecting them. Stiles had been gone by then, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his best friend ever looking at anyone the way Scott’s people had looked at him. Like he wasn’t human at all.

Stiles squeezed the other man’s hand, sliding closer to rest against Scott’s side like he could wrap himself up in their shared warmth. This was wrong, he had vows that he had to uphold and a purpose that he’d dedicated his life to. He was supposed to give his life to the Church, but all he wanted to do now was sin. Scott’s mouth was plush and pink, always sweet and Stiles wanted to know what it was like to kiss them. Lust was one of the deadliest sins, but love…was love a sin too? 

“You should join the brothers, Scott. You’re kind enough for it.”

“No way,” Scott laughed. “I’m too much of a sinner.”

The hunter didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he had to let it all out, carefully leaning into Scott’s space, his heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break through his ribs. It was Scott who closed the distance, Scott who cupped his cheek, so gently it left Stiles gasping. The kiss was over too soon, as fast as a blink, as delicate as the first snowflake of winter. Stiles flushed a bright splotchy red and jerked back, waving his hands in a panic.

“Stiles, wait no!” Scott yelled, but it was too late. The hunter squawked the whole way down, rolling right into the river. He landed with a splash, screaming for help, but all Scott did was laugh and laugh, rolling in the dirt until he was sure he inhaled half the shore.

“It’s not funny, Scott. IT’S NOT FUNNY!”

Scott disagreed with a howl, but he had to change his mind when the hunter flopped over him, cheeks puffed up with determination. Stiles’s hands were shaking when they reached out, so Scott guided him back in, and Stiles thought their second kiss was brighter than all the stars in the night sky.

He had no idea why they were so warned against the carnal pleasures of the flesh. Everything felt good, and right. Scott stood by his soggy self as he tried to explain to a room full of brothers, why they hadn’t been able to make it into town, and that night, when Scott met him in the gardens and held his hand, Stiles felt warm all the way to his toes. He wanted to hold Scott’s hand wherever they went, and the silly looks Scott sent his way from across the room made him feel like he’d conquered an entire field of witches.

Stiles had no business being in town for so long. There was obviously no one suspicious around, but he delayed his stay again and again. Twice, Scott approached him, fidgeting with his sleeves the way he did when he was concerned. Stiles thought he knew exactly what worried his friend, and he was sure that when he told Scott he wasn’t going anywhere (at least, not for the foreseeable future) that Scott would be elated. They’d work out what happened next together. It was comforting to know that there was someone who would always listen to his troubles and offer selfless support. It felt like he’d known Scott his whole life, instead of for just a handful of weeks, and Stiles was eager to tell him the good news.

With a spark of inspiration, he headed out of town. Though the sun had almost set, there was still enough light for him to pick wild flowers on the southern knoll. Scott would like them when he heard the good news. He had to. Flowers were things you gave people you liked, right? They were for girls you kissed, at least. Maybe Scotts, too?

Except the hunter never reached his destination. The path took him past the cemetery, where a crying figure gave him pause. Stiles wished he didn’t look. He spent the rest of his life wishing so. Scott was hunched over a mangled corpse, and as Stiles approached, he watched the bracelet of opals around his wrist glow red for the first time in his life.

Scott covered his face with his hands, trying to blot out the image of the dead man at his feet. He’d seen untold horrors in the centuries he’d been trapped on earth, but the corpse stared up at him with empty sockets where its eyes had been brought back too many memories. For a moment he was a young man again, holding onto the body of his best friend after killing him in a fugue state. The same sightless eyes had accused Scott of failing him. He startled at the sound of footsteps on the gravel, jerking back from the body and tearing himself out of his memory with a choked cry.

“Stiles!” He took a step forward only for Stiles to pull back, hand on the hilt of his knife. “I-I didn’t. I didn’t do this, I just found him.”

“Just  _stop_.” The hunter snapped, cold enough to freeze Scott in his tracks. He held out his wrist, the stones gleaming red. “I should have put it together. I let my guard down and you seduced me. I knew what your kind was capable of and how you trick your victims, but I fell for it anyways. I almost…I have vows and I was almost willing to…you’re a monster.”

Scott flinched at the word, hearing the jeers of a screaming crowd echo through the back of his mind. “I’m not.” His voice broke and he lunged forward, grabbing his friend and ignoring the knife that bit into the flesh of his throat. This was supposed to be their chance. He had recognized Stiles early enough to save them both. They could break this curse together now, he couldn’t let this fall apart again. Blood dripped down from the thin cut of his neck as Stiles pressed the blade closer but kept from delivering the final blow. “I swear to you, I’m not. I’m just a man, Stiles. The same man you knew and if you trust yourself, then you know deep down that I would never do something like this. If you have faith in nothing else, at least believe that.”

Stiles slowly pulled the knife from his friend’s throat, eyes widening as the skin healed itself as he watched. “What are you?”

“I don’t know.”

It was that honest admission that finally convinced him, the quiet resignation that Scott was just as lost and confused as he was. This beautiful young man had shaken him to the very core of his faith and was everything he had been warned about. A siren sent to lure him to sin and yet, there was no blood on his hands. Stiles slipped the opals from his wrist and onto Scott’s, the stones fading back into a reassuring pure, milky white against his dark skin.

There was a shout behind them as one of the young apprentices from the monastery discovered the body, racing back to raise the alarm. Stiles shoved Scott away and sent the man stumbling. “Go, before they get here.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You think that’s going to matter? Someone saw you, I’ll stall them. Get to the docks and take passage on the first ship away from the city. Don’t let anyone see your face or know your name.”

“What about you?” Scott held out his hand and they laced fingers for one moment before Stiles pulled away.

“I will be there in two day’s time, I’ll find you again. Now go!”

Scott took off running away from the sanctuary that had offered him a few years of peace and hid in the dark alleys and reeking hovels by the docks, ticking off the hours as the sun set and rose again. Two days turned to three, then to four and he refused to leave even as news of the murder had spread like wildfire through the city and the guards were sent to patrol the streets. Stiles was coming, they were going to leave together and start brand new like they were supposed to. They were finally going to be okay!

On the fifth day, a wave of grief cut through Scott as sharp as a weapon and he doubled over with a gasp. That afternoon, he booked passage on a small ship ready to sail to Naples and never looked back.

 

  


Scott leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair, butt already asleep as he twisted the opal bracelet around his wrists. How much longer were they going to keep him sitting here? It had been hours already and he was tired of answering the same questions over and over. There was nothing he could do to help them, they were wasting their time when a real killer was on the loose. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door finally opened.

“Alright, Mr. McCall. We’re almost done here, just a few more things we’d like to clear up.”

He recognized the detective instantly, well-practiced after almost a thousand years, and leveled a finger at Stiles. “ _No_. Definitely not you. I’m not talking to you, tell them to send anyone else.” 

Though Malia hadn’t been holding her breath, Stiles had every intention of going through with a very professional and well-thought out speech with only the mildest of intimidation tactics, all of which the Geneva convention were totally okay with. That didn’t last long. “What do you mean not me?! Which of those assholes told you anything about me?”

But Scott remained tight-lipped and glared like he was trying to melt Stiles’s face off.

“Look McCall, you don’t want obstruction of justice on your record. That’s a thousand times worse than any parking ticket you’ve ever gotten. Be a smart kid and fess up.”

“I don’t have a car.” Scott threw back, mouth pursed in a thin line. “All I did was jog. That’s not illegal,  _officer.”_

“That’s detective, you little-”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.” Stiles sputtered angrily. “But you’re a witness and you’re the only link we’ve got to this case. I saw you at two different crime scenes!”

“It’s not illegal to live in the neighborhood,  _officer_.” He stressed the incorrect title and watched Stiles’s face flush a mottled and furious red. “I have about 50 people who saw me this morning, I wasn’t there when that poor guy was attacked and I don’t know anything more than you do. All I was doing was going for a run.” He raised one eyebrow thoughtfully. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“I’m in great shape, what are you talking about?” The cop sucked in his stomach and tried to tense enough to show some sort of muscle definition. Who the hell did this guy think he was? All Stiles was trying to do was help and maybe find a legal way of getting his number, he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

Scott bowed his head slightly, curse himself for not being able to keep the smile from his lips. He was too close now, he couldn’t let himself get distracted by another heartbreak. He’d learned this lesson too many times, it was better when they passed each other by. Hope was a disease that picked away at your heart until there was nothing left. He was always just so…Stiles. No one else on earth could get so far under his skin.

“If I’m not under arrest, then I’m free to go, right?” He stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Stiles ground his teeth out and managed a growl. “Technically.”

“Then technically, I’m going to home to shower. It’s been a thing, hopefully we don’t see each other again, officer.”

“IT’S DETECTIVE, DAMN IT!” 

Scott got all the way out the door, feeling vaguely proud of himself for keeping his focus. He should have realized that running was the only option.

“Hey McCall!”

Scott let out a full-bodied groan, spinning on his heel and briefly entertained the idea of just jogging away. He almost got smacked in the head by a flying projectile. He fumbled, squawking gracelessly, and the detective only smirked at his embarrassment. With a shocked smile, Scott held up a tiny blue toy car, and looked up to see Detective Stiles’s smug face.

“I’ve got my eyes on you, McCall. Don’t go leaving town any time soon.”

Scott was doomed.

“It’s the middle of semester!”

Stiles wagged a very judgmental finger at him, and Scott rolled his eyes so hard, they almost fell out of his head. He was too busy beating a hasty retreat to notice the way Stiles’s smiled when he pocketed the car.

That evening, Scott watched as the Beacon Hills Police Department released a statement on every local news station, warning the town of any unfamiliar Caucasian man, mid to late forties, who were prone to mood swings, and had a peculiar relationship to animals. It was the profile they’d been using to track an international serial killer, known as The Blind Man, provided for them by Interpol.

It was almost funny how often the police got it wrong, what with the advancements in technology they had, but Scott’s new car looked kinda cute on top of his TV. It looked kinda dumb, too.

“I swear to god, Stiles, if he sues us, I’m letting you take the fall for this.”

“He’s not gonna sue us! He’s a college kid. He’s probably broke.”

Malia let out a frustrated growl, flipping through her case files with intent. “This is harassment. This is  _beyond_  harassment. You don’t get to ask Kira about his presentation again, or I swear, I will-”

“I didn’t! I didn’t! I just… Asked her other things.”

“Stiles what are you doing?”

“Completely important, other things. Things of the other nature,” Stiles insisted, casually shoving everything on his desk into his bag. “My would you look at the time. I better get going. Long night ahead. Need that dinner. Low blood sugar and all that. See ya, Tate!”

The detective didn’t care what Malia said. Asking Kira where her students liked to have dinner was a supremely important part of their investigation.

It was crowded with students huddled over their laptops, determinedly shoving greasy fries in their face as they tried their best to study as rowdy groups competed for space. The beer was watery, but as long as it kept flowing, no one complained. Cheap food and open until 3 am when everything else was closed, if you didn’t mind the fact the floor was slightly sticky or that the music cycled through the same 90s “classics” over and over, it was the perfect place. Stiles took a deep breath and grinned. Now this was his kind of hangout. He was only a few years older than them, probably the same age as the grad students, but he liked to think the job gave him a certain amount of wisdom no matter what Tate said.

He spotted the hottie, er…suspect at a table in the corner and prepared his best tactics like he was going to war. An uncooperative witness was a difficult thing, a man had to be sensitive and persistent to get information out of someone like that. Good thing Stiles considered himself an expert at both. With what he considered a charming grin, he set a basket of hit fries on the table in front of Scott and slid into the booth across from him.

“Peace offering?”

Scott looked at the fries and up at Stiles, expression blank.

“What, you don’t like fries? Dude, everyone likes fries! It’s sort of the universal language of apologies. I was sort of a push jerk back at the station and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

The student sighed and closed his laptop. For a moment he just looked so tired. “You really can’t be here.”

“It’s totally okay, I’m off the clock and since you’re not a suspect or anything, this isn’t fraternizing. It’s just me being nice! I’m a nice guy sometimes?”

“I’m sure you are.” Scott chewed on the inside of his lip, feeling his aching heart flip the way it always did. Stupid traitor, didn’t it know better by now? How many times were they going to have to go through this before he learned? “This isn’t going to work, I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in fries?” Stiles put on a shocked face, misunderstanding on purpose. “That doesn’t even sound human.”

“Maybe I’m not. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do and I’m sorry for before, but there’s nothing to make up for. I’m not looking for a relationship and I’m not good for you. Trust me on that one.” 

“You don’t even know me!” There was an insistent whine folded into his voice that Stiles couldn’t keep back, no matter how embarrassing it was. He shouldn’t have been this worried. Sure he was hotter than the sun, but Stiles’s ego had come a long way since he stalked Lydia Martin in high school. That didn’t explain why everything about Scott McCall was infuriating, but when Scott looked at him like that, like Stiles was making him sad, all he wanted to do was fix it.

“Your favorite color is probably blue. You’re a detective because you want to protect people, but also because you wanted to go on grand adventures and you always wanted to be a hero. You’re the meanest when people disappoint you, and mocking when they piss you off… And you’re an amazing detective when you’re not hitting on your murder suspects.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, unable to ignore the tired slump of Scott’s shoulders, and still trying to guess the price of his smile. “You forgot one thing.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I can fit four donuts in my mouth, and I bet that’s not something you see every day.”

Scott burst out laughing, and the detective was struck by how badly he wanted to see Scott do that but naked. Preferably not when he was looking at Stiles though. Scott crammed a few fries into his mouth, and Stiles was ready to proclaim progress. Then he realized Scott was packing up to leave.

“Good night, detective. Let’s not do this again. I mean it.”

But dammit, he watched Scott go, because somewhere in that bag, he’d hidden Stiles’s heart-dick or even, mayhaps, his dick-heart.

Stiles sighed, a tad too dramatically, but even the plate of fries he nursed couldn’t convince him that something wasn’t just a little wrong with all this. He was a detective, dammit. His instincts were honed and dangerous instruments. They still didn’t prepare him for the sound of gunfire.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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